


Going Full Homo

by RaffyCaffy



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Awkward First Times, Doing the do in ugly sweaters, Established Relationship, Humanstuck, Illustrated Fic, M/M, SS Johnkat 2014, obligatory christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaffyCaffy/pseuds/RaffyCaffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m your present Karkat, it’s me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Full Homo

**Author's Note:**

> My Secret Santa Johnkat 2014 gift for Harley. This is the first damn thing I've ever written and I hope you like it and thank you so much to insertAWESOMEusernamehere for being an amazing beta and Addy for giving me writing advice.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you think someone must’ve spiked the eggnog. Right now you’re at Dave’s Ironic Ugly Sweater Christmas (Eve) party and your boyfriend John is making a complete ass of himself. Well, more than usual.  
John is fully aware of your stance on PDA, especially in front of your friends no less. However, as of late he’s been noticeably handsy, wrapping his arms around your waist when you’re making an attempt at being social and slurring horrendous pick-up lines at the back of your neck. You think you caught Dave taking pictures of these incidences on his phone, but you can never really be sure about anything that sentient piece of shit does. You think you would be able to handle it just fine, but since he’s started dragging you to the mistletoe (which was actually just a sprig of holly and the jackass can’t tell the difference), your resolve started crumbling.

After you last pushed him away one last time, you saw him trot clumsily to the Lalondes, Roxy included. Aw fuck. 

John and Roxy have a complicated history together. They dated on and off back when you still had a secret crush a John. Well, it was a secret to John, not so much to everyone else. After they broke up one final time, they still remained close friends and he began to gravitate towards you since then. A few months later, he confessed that he might be bisexual. You remember how he wouldn’t look at you and how his voice shook when he told you. As though coming to terms with that part of himself was the most terrifying thing he faced, and for John, it probably was. It wasn’t too long afterwards (with Dave’s pestering as it turns out) that he confessed he thought you were “super cute and not like in the puppy way, more like the I-kinda-wanna-hold-your-hand way? Haha.”

That was the day John Egbert asked you out. 

Obviously, being the desperately hopeless romantic ass-licking pile of vomit you are, accepted - very enthusiastically. So ecstatic over the prospect of him actually taking an interest to you that it silenced the tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that it had to be some sort of sick joke.  
A few weeks of shy hand touches and ambiguous outings had you wondering if he was really into you at all. He called you a ‘stupid dunkass’ for even asking the question, but you can’t help but have these doubts looming over you to this day. He kept your relationship a secret for a few months and insisted you do the same. Dave was the only one who knew and you would sometimes lay your doubts on him. Not long after that you caught John kissing Roxy, or “being kissed by” as he insists. You sat in your apartment for two weeks not talking to him and Dave trying to cheer you up. The whole thing was more or less resolved when Dave invited you over to his place and locked you in his room with John until “you two stubborn fucks kiss and makeup because I’m tired of your bullshit.”

The incident was swept under the rug and John came out to his friends. Roxy pulled you aside and apologized, a lot. Said that if she had known, she wouldn’t have done it. You know she wouldn’t have. Roxy is everything you aren’t. She’s honest, kind, intelligent and not to mention stunningly beautiful. You can’t hold a candle to her and you still have this creeping fear inside that one day, John will come to his senses to go for someone who’s worthy of him. If someone is worthy of John Egbert’s heart, it’s certainly not going to be a stocky, dark, angry, obtuse fuck like you.

You know that Roxy was drunk when she kissed John, she usually was whenever she made terrible decisions, but she never used it as an excuse and never told a soul when she quit cold-turkey. As jealous as you are of Roxy, deep down, you really admire her too. 

Your eyes watched intently as Roxy nearly snorted soda out of her nose, possibly because of some stupid joke John made. You honestly wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if John left you for her, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt any less if he did.

Yeah, you need some fresh air for a bit. Maybe stepping out and getting slapped in the face with frost will snap you out of this sinking feeling in your chest. Not even ten minutes out and you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. Oh god damn it.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB]  began pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] \--

EB: your eyes are an ocean  
EB: your ass is also an ocean  
EB: wonk  
EB: *wink  
CG: JOHN FOR FUCK’S SAKE CAN’T YOU KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS UNTIL WE AT LEAST STEP INTO OUR APARTMENT.  
CG: I DON’T THINK I CAN HANDLE LIVING WITH MYSELF KNOWING THAT THERE ARE WITNESSES HERE TO SEE YOUR GOD-AWFUL ATTEMPTS AT FLIRTING.  
CG: IT’D BE A GOD DAMN CHISTMAS MIRACLE IF NO ONE ERUPTED INTO A PEPPERMINT-FLAVORED VOMIT VOLCANO AND DECKED THE HALLS WITH THEIR PUTRID VILE AT THE SIGHT OF YOU TRYING TO SHOVE YOUR TONGUE DOWN MY GULLET.  
EB: haha gross  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM ANYWAY? I’VE SEEN YOU SHIT-FACED, MORE TIMES THAN I’D LIKE TO ADMIT AND YOU WEREN’T THIS BAD. THE WORST THING YOU DID WAS CRY WHEN I DIDN’T HAVE A COPY OF GHOSTBUSTERS 2.  
EB: weeeeeeeell  
EB: i’ve been thinking  
CG: LET ME STOP YOU RIGHT THE FUCK THERE  
CG: IF YOU DO THE SPIDER BITCH THING WHENEVER YOU’RE TALKING TO ME, YOU’RE STUCK ON THE COUCH PERMANENTLY.  
CG: AND FURTHERMORE, I THINK WE SHOULD ADDRESS THE FACT THAT YOU, JOHN EGBERT, ARE APPARENTLY CAPABLE OF HAVING AN ACTUAL THOUGHT IN THE VAST WASTELAND BETWEEN YOUR GUNK-ENCRUSTED AURICULAR SPONGECLOTS?!  
EB: …  
EB: are you done?  
CG: I’M NEVER DONE, BUT GO ON. PLEASE ENLIGHTEN ME WITH THE HIDEOUS OFFSPRING PRODUCED BY THE ONLY TWO BRAIN CELLS YOU HAVE BOUNCING AROUND THE WALLS OF YOUR THICK, SPACIOUS SKULL.  
EB: well  
EB: ufck this is really embarrsing  
EB: *embareassing  
EB: **awkward  
EB: but  
EB: we’ve been a thing for a while now, right?  
CG: YEAH  
EB: and you know how we’ve  
EB: erm  
EB: never gone ‘all the way’?  
CG: …  
CG: YEAH

You and John have been together for a little over a year now and if it weren’t for Dave nudging you two in the right direction (to help his best bros “get some”), you probably would still be pining for John from afar like some half-brained damsel. You hated Strider and his meddling, but you couldn’t be more grateful for it. Fat chance you’ll ever actually admit it to him though.

For as long as you two have been together the furthest you have ever gotten with John is kissing. Okay, well there was that one time he rutted on your thigh until he creamed himself last month and he only started looking you in the face again three days ago. You know that he’s still working through a lot of his internalized homophobia (which you have no idea how he got in the first place, considering that his dad is the most open-minded father ever), but for a guy that’s still sifting through his personal sexuality issues, he’s been ridiculously clingy lately (not that you mind, you just aren’t entirely comfortable with people staring).

John can’t seriously suggest what you think he’s gonna suggest. No way in hell. (Oh god please yes let it happen). Especially not even a week after he started looking you in the eye again.

Your hands shake in anticipation of his reply, that or the fact that it’s cold enough to shit ice cubes. The suspense winds you up so tightly that it’s no surprise that you practically drop your phone the moment it vibrates again.

EB: talking about this on pesterchum is stupid  
EB: why don’t we talk about this in person?  
EB: where the hell are you anyway?  
CG: I’M OUTSIDE  
EB: wanna meet me under the mistletoe?  
EB: /waggles brows  
CG: JOHN FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK I COULD LITERALLY TAPE A WEED TO THE CEILING AND YOU’LL CALL IT A MISTLETOE. WHAT KIND OF BIOLOGY NERD CAN’T TELL THE DIFFERENCE?  
EB: are you gonna meet me inside or not?  
CG: UGH.  
CG: FINE.

Warm air hits your face the moment you step back inside, it would sound like a pleasant contrast from the frosty breeze outside were it not for the fact that the heat was coming from too many sweaty bodies being pressed too close together. Fucking disgusting, it practically reeks of alcohol and body odor in here. Weirdly enough, there wasn’t a whole lot of dancing going on, just a bunch of bodies crammed into a single apartment living room like an old bus during rush hour. Regardless of the amount of friends Dave had over for this pointless function (WAY TOO FUCKING MANY), it wasn’t too hard to spot John. 

As soon as Halloween was over, John wouldn’t stop pestering Jade until she made his thrift store-bought Christmas sweater the “best there is with your sciencey shit”, as John oh-so-eloquently put it.

So there, leaning directly under a duct-taped sprig of holly (oh for fuck’s sake), was John. His blindingly colorful Christmas tree sweater inserted with LED lights (with the help of one Jade Harley) was shining like an enormous, nerdy beacon. His gorgeous baby blues meet your muddy carmine and he smiles that goofy, buck-toothed grin that had you falling in love with the idiot all over again.

[](http://imgur.com/1GMgpOR)

God, could you be anymore pathetic?

“Hi Karkat!” He beams. He damn near staggers over to you (right, he’s been drinking) and wraps his arms around your waist. Yeah, as much as you liked all of this attention you happened to catch the eye of one Dave Strider. Well, you were sure you caught his eye, but it’s hard to tell with him wearing those pretentious shades (that were clearly designed for women). You can’t help but look at his over-sized, bright red sweater. It was unusually plain compared to what everyone else was wearing; ‘FEEL THE JOY’ in big, white letters making up the front of the sweater and a lone mitten haphazardly stapled to the front of his crotch. You’ll admit that you and John gave an appreciative ‘HAH!’ when you first saw it. You catch your blonde friend smirking and the crotchblistering assmuncher has the gall to give you a thumbs-up. Yeah no, you already provide him enough ammo to consistently insult you until the next millennia. You reluctantly push John off; you’re here for serious fucking business after all.

“What the hell is so important that you couldn’t just pester me like a normal person?” You scoff.

His hand grabs at your wrist and his eyes wander around the room conspiratorially before bringing his voice down into a whisper, “We can’t talk about it here.”

Jesus Christ this fucking worthless shitsponge.

“Then why the hell couldn’t you just, ERGH!” You throw your hands up in frustration, breaking the grip he had on you. Before you could wrap your hands around his dark pencil-neck, you settle for massaging away the on-coming migraine. Deep breaths Karkat, deep breaths. There has to be a reason why this mouth-breather pulled you back from what was the only five minutes of peace and quiet you’ve gotten since you came here. Just force yourself to go through with it, Vantas. “Fine,” You sigh with resignation, “Where the hell can we talk about whatever the hell it is then?”

The gentleness with which he places his hands on top of yours and pulls them away from your head to dangle in-between the two of you with fingers intertwined catches you totally off guard. ‘Oh he’s good.’

He attempts to lead you by walking backwards, only to stumble and fall on his ass. Typical. Looks like you’re going to be the designated driver tonight, shit. He opts for leading you with one hand and facing forward instead (probably to avoid tripping over his own heels again). As you look behind you before you turned the corner, you’re positive you saw Dave holding both thumbs in your direction with a nod. Oh hell no.

John stops in front of what you assume is the older Strider’s bedroom. You really don’t like where this is going so far. Anything pertaining to that puppet-obsessed weirdo gives you the fucking creeps and you’d rather not intrude on his territory. Your boyfriend, however, apparently doesn’t think the same way. He looks up and down the hallway with suspicion before quietly pulling you inside.

Honestly speaking, you were expecting (definitely not hoping for) a pair of sloppy, liquor-smelling lips clumsily pressing against yours. What you got, however, was an armful of affectionate nerd, his forehead resting on your shoulder. You fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. You fail miserably. You feel your back resting against the door, but you don’t feel pinned or restrained in any way. John is simply leaning against you, wordlessly enjoying your warmth and company.

“Karkat?”

Well, almost wordlessly. You sigh gruffly in annoyance, even though you actually feel relatively calm right now. Calmer than usual, that is. “What?”

You feel him lick his lips, stalling to get his words out. He inhales deeply and swallows nervously, as though bracing himself. “I think I want to go full homo.”

OH MY FUCKING GOD.

You hear a series of thumps before realizing that it was the back of your head hitting the door repeatedly. Not only was this incredible tentsquatting idiot drunk out of his mind, he had to go and ask for sex in the least romantic/mature way possible.

“John,” You deadpan, “You’re shit-faced and you have no fucking idea what the blistering fuck you’re talking about.”

If he asked, you would give him an honest answer. Yes, (oh god yes) you wanted to have sex with him and it practically scalded you to reject him, but you definitely did not want your first time together to be some drunken fling at some douchejerk’s Christmas party. 

John lifts his head and meets your eyes, his face as boyish and earnest as they come. “I’m not THAT drunk, Karkat,” he slurs. It’s subtle, but it’s there. “Also, we don’t have to do it NOW. I’m jus sayin’ that I’m ready whenever you are.”

He smiles that fucking dazzling smile and he kisses you. Damn this batshit cocklicking piece of shit, he’s making it very difficult to push him away. As much as you didn’t want to, you do.

“John,” You murmur, “I think we should go home.”

“Ohoho?” He grins, “Are you succumbin’ to my wiles, Mr. Vantas?”

You’re officially so done with this fucking night. “No, John. You’re intoxicated and I’m more dead on my feet than Jade’s stuffed Grandpa.”

Before he can fill your ears with anymore of his muttered, alcohol-induced idiocy, you hoist him over your shoulder and abscond. Oddly enough, you don’t hear a peep out of John. You did, however, hear some whistles coming from the insufferable apeshitters you call ‘friends’. How early and/or quickly you leave while carrying your boyfriend is your business. 

You stuff John into the back seat of your car and make the half-hour trek back home. The drive was a blur in your mind and before you knew it, you placed your passed out boyfriend (ugly light-up sweater and all) on your bed with some water and painkillers on the nightstand. Hopefully he didn’t drink so much that he’d have a Lalonde-sized hangover in the morning.

You glance at the clock hanging above your pathetic excuse of a Christmas tree and you have got to be fucking kidding me, it’s only 8 p.m. Dave’s party started at around five. You have to be one of the biggest social failures to ever walk the Earth, how did you end up with even a single friend in the first place?

With an exasperated sigh, you plop down on to your worn couch. The night is young and you’re not tired, might as well binge on Netflix until Christmas morning since you have nothing better to do. You figure that since you’re staying here that John can keep the bed for tonight, you’d rather not take the risk of him spilling his foodsack bile on you at three in the fucking morning. You sift through the recommended titles before you realize that anything worth watching isn’t available on stream. God damn it, it was the perfect night to watch ‘Love, Actually’ too. Well fuck, might as well just watch whatever you select and hope it’s boring enough to throw you into a regular sleep cycle.

You’re startled into consciousness by the sound of the microwave beep from the kitchen a few hours later. You were awake to watch more than half of Muppet’s Christmas Carol, but it was some Disney channel straight-to-dvd Christmas movie that you didn’t bother to remember the name of that knocked your ass into dreamland.

“Oops! Sorry! Did I wake you?” John asked from the doorway connecting the living room to the kitchen.

“No, I’m still sleeping.” You scorned with a roll of your eyes.

“Well THAT’S a relief,” John bit back with a roll of his eyes. God you love this vomit-inducing, pole-squatting nincompoop. “Anyway, I’m making cocoa, want some?”

“I’m good. You sober yet?”

“Pfft, Karkat, I wasn’t even all that drunk to begin with.” He plops down on the couch next to you, cocoa in hand and a radiant smile on his lips.

“Oh really?” You inquire skeptically, “So I guess you falling on your gelatinous behind back there was just your average loss of basic motor skills then?”

He nudges you in the rib with a bony elbow, “I wasn’t drunk Karkat, I was tipsy. There’s like, a huge fucking difference, dude.”

“Sure,” You state, entirely unconvinced. John scoots closer and leans against you, his shoulder pressing against yours. As hard as you try to look like a calloused badass, truth of the matter is that you’re a pan-addled pile of romantic trash. Being the romantic and clingy piece of shit that you are, you wrap your arm around your boyfriend and pull him closer. He lifts the cup of piping-hot cocoa between the two of you, the gentle steam wafting under your nose; wordlessly offering you a sip. Before your lips touch the ceramic rim of his creepy Nic Cage mug, he pulls it away.

“If you wanted some you should’ve told me before I sat down.” He beams mischievously. 

Fucking dick-scratching assfairy.

“The moment you put down that mug, I’m going to pop the manliest of squats right over it and aim the biggest turd I can push out of my sphincter with the force of my incurable rage. Enjoy your beverage, slut.”

“Karkat! Ewww!” John chokes out between snorts, completely scandalized. God you love that adorkable laugh, it makes you want to kiss him and shove him into a locker at the same time. So you do, kiss him that is. You press your lips against smiling ones and he lets out this heart-melting sigh as he leans into you and god yes, this is too awesome to even put into words. He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, “So, what do you wanna watch?”

It took a moment for the question to sink into your lovestruck brain, “Huh? Oh, I’ve had enough of mind-numbing shit-tier movies for one day. What the hell are you doing up anyway? Thought your inebriated ass would be out until at least morning.”

“For your information, I was intending to stay awake and continue partying until a certain someone put me in the comfy backseat of their car.”

“OH YEAH RIGHT! If you weren’t going to fall asleep in my car, you were going to do it on Dave’s turntables or Roxy’s freakishly perky chest.”

The very moment those words left your mouth, you knew you fucked up really fucking bad. Shit. John’s eyes flickered with, anger? No, that was definitely hurt. Either way, you’re trash.

“Karkat, that was months ago! Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that!”

If you had to be honest with yourself, yes, you were still a little bitter about John making out with Roxy. What upset you most about that is that he kissed her before he even bothered trying to kiss you. You have to look away.

“Oh my god, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, no shit. My flames of perpetual rage can’t be quelled with a couple of half-assed apologies, John.”

You hear him groan in frustration and the sound of ceramic being placed on the floor somewhere. “How many times do I have to tell you that she kissed ME and that I was freaking out about us?”

“I don’t even know why I brought it up, let’s just forget I ever opened my putrid cakehole.”

“No. I think we should talk about it since you want to bring it up whenever you get the chance. I remember Rose saying something like if something keeps getting brought up, then it’s therapeutic to vent about it or whatever. So go on bro, let me have it. Let’s make this feelings jam happen, I got nothing to hide.”

Yeah, John sounded unusually acquiescent about this, confident even, way more than usual. He would usually be just as urgent as you about sweeping it under the metaphorical rug, but what the hell is with this sudden “talk about our fee-fees” bullshit? 

“For one thing I’m not your ‘bro’, Egbert. I’m your fucking boyfriend.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. You did not want this conversation to be happening.

“Who says you can’t be both?” John shrugs, “Like, we can chill and play games like bros but also do gross kissy-shit like boyfriends. Pretty sure there’s no law against it, dude.”

Well, he got you there and urgh, you really don’t want to talk about this. Why the hell did you have to open your fat, rancid proteinchute? You feel a warm hand cupping your cheek. You open your eyes (when the fuck did you close them?) and there is John, leaning very fucking close with this knowing look that makes your insides churn with unease. For a brief second, it is as though he sees right through you and into all of the doubts and insecurities shifting restlessly in the back of your mind. Words bubble up in the back of your throat, but fade away before they reach the tip of your tongue.

“Karkat,” John begins, whispering softly, “About what I said back at Dave’s party? You know I was serious, right?”

Heat rushes to your face and irritation flares in your chest, “And you think that’s somehow going to fix our problems? Fuck each other until our grievances are gone? That’s not how shit works, John.”

“I know,” John sighs, “But I also know that you mean all of the terrible shit you say about yourself. I thought it was your way of joking or whatever, but when I think about you being serious, it-it’s just sad, Karkat.”

“And what does this have to do with the nonsense you were spewing at Strider’s party?” 

“Because I think I have it all figured out.”

“What?” You ask gruffly. This couldn’t be happening, you didn’t want to talk about this. 

“You don’t think I’m serious about us, do you?”

Fuck. Yeah, shit, there was no way to respond to that in the negative without lying to his face. “And what in the whimsical ass-scratching fuck gave you that idea?”

Annoyance is a rare thing to see on John’s youthful, cheery face. Whenever he is serious about something, he almost looks like a completely different person. When his stern, sky blue eyes fixated on yours you knew he wasn’t having any of your shit. “Karkat, whenever things are good you tend to bring up that one time with Roxy! She didn’t know about us!”

“Yeah, but you did and I didn’t see you trying to push her off!”

“Just because I didn’t push her off didn’t mean I wanted it, Karkat!”

Both of your voices echo through the small living room. When the hell did you even stand up? You should’ve known this would happen, this time was the straw that broke the desert moose’s back. All the times you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about your jealousy finally bit you in the ass and it was only a matter of time before John wanted to let it out into the open. He steps towards you and raises his hand. You flinch. He lays his palm on your broad shoulders and just looks at you. You can tell he is trying to keep calm. He is the more levelheaded one out of the two of you, stupid as he is. John Egbert is the kind of person who will try to stay strong for others, even if he is feeling shitty himself; that’s another thing you admire about him. That’s another reason why he is too good for you. You let the silence stretch on for a moment before you croak out, “Can we just drop this?”

“No, Karkat, we can’t.” John starts, “You need to get that I don’t have these mushy feelings for anyone but you. I really want you to give me the chance to prove it to you, by lettingmemakelovetoyou.” 

John’s other hand cups your face, his shaking and sweaty palm warm against your cool cheek, face burning with humiliation. You can’t help but lean into his touch. The earnestness behind his words and his gaze dulls the blade of your rage. Instead, a familiar, warm flutter sneaks into your chest and nests snuggly inside your ribcage. “And you think that if we do it that our problems will somehow disappear?” Trust yourself to respond to honesty with sarcasm and skepticism. Why does he even bother with you?

“Nope!” He chirps, “You’ll still probably be mad at me and still think horrible things about yourself, but maybe this way I can show you that I don’t think you’re as gross as you say you are.” What a real prince charming.

“John, just a month ago you fucking bricked on my leg and refused to look me in the eye until just recently. Am I supposed to believe that you’re suddenly ready to go ‘full homo’ to try to prove a point to me? Egbert, the last thing I fucking want is for you to force yourself to gaze down on my revolting excuse of male genitalia and try to convince me I look fine as you’re trying not to choke on your own bile.”

“First of all, gross. Second, my first full homo experience with you involved me coming in my pants like a teenager and running away. I’m 23, of course I’m gonna be embarrassed about it. I didn’t get the chance to get you off and I already fucked up, dude! Like, I know you like weird romantic junk but that was like zero romantic, negative romance, bro. No bed of silk and roses for Karkat, nope, just his boyfriend creaming in his undies and crying.” 

You feel his grip shifting, as though he is uncomfortable holding you. Knowing John, he would be hiding his face in his hands right about now if they weren’t currently busy. “You cried?” You can’t stop the chuckle that escapes your throat. John’s face is just so red and he looks hilariously indignant, it is much better than the steely glare he was giving you earlier.

“I was being dramatic for comedic purposes!” John retaliates.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’.” You grin.

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you fucking make me?” You lean closer towards him, noses barely bumping against each other. A challenge is posed, unspoken, but evident between the two of you. If this is going to happen, John is going to initiate it and he is going to call the shots. You’d be damned if you just rammed into this head-first without giving it a second thought and end up hurting him somehow, no pun intended. As sexually frustrated as you are, if John decided he changed his mind and didn’t want this, hell, you didn’t either. You’re used to beating your meat in the shower like it owes you money anyway, what difference would it make if he said ‘no’?

[](http://imgur.com/GqnZDNU)

John closes the gap between your lips, soft and timid as though it were your first kiss all over again. You wrap your warms around his thin waist, leaning into his embrace. You can’t hold back the soft gasp when his buckteeth pull your lower lip into his mouth and suck gently. The hand that was resting on your shoulder moves to join the other in holding your face, both thumbs rubbing the peaks of your cheekbones. Before you have the chance to completely melt under his caresses, he pulls away with the shiteating grin you knew all too well and steps back. His palms are still cradling your face and you have no choice but to follow each step with one of your own; he steps back and you step forward. As soon as the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch, he lets you go to sit down. It is as though he is posing a challenge of his own: you can either sit with him and resume sloppy makeouts or go the fuck to sleep. John spreads his legs with a cheeky smile and pats the top of his thigh, “Come on, Karkat! Sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what you want for Christmas!” He sings.

Well, that settles it, “I’m going to bed.” 

A frantic rustle, “No wait, Karkat! Come back!”

You feel his grip tighten around your wrist. His grip is tight, but not so much so that you couldn’t pull away if you wanted to. This nerd has the guts to still be laughing at his own terrible joke and sounded unapologetic even when he said sorry. “I was just kidding!” He giggles, “I mean, if you wanna go to bed, that’s cool. We don’t have t-”

You manage to silence him with your lips, chaste, but still effective enough to get your point across, “I was fucking bluffing you shitwhiffing dunderfuck.”

“Oh,” John begins astutely, “So, you still wanna…?”

“Yes, you idiot. I wanna…” You respond, pulling a face to mock his inability to ask for sex like an adult. The laughter that comes out of him eased the tension that was mounting, if only a little bit.

The hand on your wrist slides to your palm, fingers twining themselves with yours. You’d be lying if you said that your heart didn’t want to jump out of your chest every time he did that, god this fucking guy. This time when he sat back down, you didn’t hesitate on straddling his lap, your thighs planted on either side of his hips. You are a little embarrassed to be in this position, but you are sure there are far more embarrassing things to come if you are going to have sex with John Egbert.

Your gaze meets his and you notice the ruddy color on his copper cheeks. His trembling hands rub up and down the length of your thighs. His touching isn’t necessarily sexual, it is more of a soothing motion and it did help to some degree. You figure that you should return the favor since John isn’t too used to initiating affection. You drape your arms around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his clammy bangs. “Egbert, we don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” He whispers, “But I want to. I just have no idea what I’m doing.”

“What else is new?” You scoff with a roll of your eyes.

“What’s new is shutting your face.” He responds, giving a quick peck to your lips. His hands aren’t shaking as much, at least that’s a start. Your eyes meet once more and your lips meet in the middle, mouths melding together languidly and sensually. One of your hands settle on the back of John’s nape, gently balling strands of his thick, black hair into your fist. You feel the low rumble of a groan resonate against your chest. His warm hands blaze a trail from your thighs to your back, hesitantly teasing the hem of your hideous sweater. 

You temporarily break the kiss, lips making an audible ‘smack’, to whisper into the crook of his neck, “Just fucking go for it, asswipe. It’s a ‘yes’ until I say so, got it?”

“Okay,” He gulps, hands slowly snaking themselves under your kringlefucked turtleneck. You feel his fingers splay themselves across the expanse of your back, as if trying to touch as much of your skin as he can. John breathes sharply through his nose and exhales a long, shuddering sigh while his hands fondle the hills and valleys of sinew that mark your back after years of manual labor. You pull away from his ear, giving a peck to a flushed cheek as you did so. If you had any doubts left about whether or not John was genuinely attracted to you, they are put at ease when you take in the sight of his eyes. The way his half-lidded, dilated gaze bores into yours sends a pleasurable chill down your spine. There is no denying that look: John Egbert is actually attracted to you. Holy shit. 

His hands move from your back to your chest, his touch igniting sparks under your skin. All you can do is watch when he strokes past your v-line, abdominals, and rest his palms on your pectorals. It is as though John is trying to memorize every bump and indentation of your torso by touch alone, taking his time to learn your body. The tenderness of his gesture is not lost to you; you wanted–no –needed to kiss him. Your mouths meet once again, his already open and eager to get a taste of you. You oblige. You slip your tongue past his lips and he sucks on it greedily. You feel the fabric of your sweater being pushed under your chin; John’s moving the clothing out of the way to get better access at feeling you. The cool air hitting your heated skin elicits a shudder, nipples perking at the chill of your unheated living room. John playfully pinches one of your buds and you would have squawked indignantly, were it not for the fact that he has your tongue. You took to curving the tip of your tongue to brush against the roof of his mouth and the nasally wheeze he lets out when he pulled away is totally worth it. That’s what you get, pungent brat.

With a muttered “Asshole,” he trails a kiss from your exposed collarbone to your chest, tongue swirling around a pebbled nipple. It feels strange, not bad, but not the best thing ever either. John’s lips take hold of the nub and began to suck.

And suck.

And suck.

And suck some more.

Yeah, okay this is getting weird.

“Egbert, what in the pighumping shitfuck do you think you’re doing? Breastfeeding?”

“Um, no? I just, I kinda thought you might be into that?” John winces.

“Into what? Nursing?”

“No dude! Ugh, never mind. So chest raisins are a no-go.” John glances awkwardly to the side, as though trying to think of a way to salvage your rapidly deflating semi. “Hey, can you take your sweater off?”

“Fuck no!” You shout, pulling the fabric back down over your stomach. “It’s cold as fuck in here! Also, not until you take off that horrid thing you call a sweater first.”

“What? No way dude! Getting the lights to work on this thing was a bitch! I’m gonna wear it as long as possible!”

“Well fine, then I’m not taking mine off.” You state, arms unraveling from John’s neck to cross them firmly in front of your chest.

“Me neither.”

Silence drags on. It seems like the two of you have reached an impasse. Well shit. At this rate both of you will piss each other off too much to ever get anywhere. Why the hell is this a federal issue? Spoiler alert: because you’re both fucking cowards. Of course, both of you being the stubborn shitbricks that you are will never let the fact that you’re absolutely terrified of fucking this up out into the open. You really just want to let this go. Maybe you should just give up even trying tonight. As though sensing your doubt, John speaks up. “Do you, y’know? Still wanna?”

“John do you really think that I’m going to stop because of a sweater? Seriously? Your face alone is more unsightly than that knitted eyesore you call clothing.”

For an instant, you can see irritation flicker through his eyes before he breathes out a sign of resignation. Yeah, even he’s done with your bullshit. The hands that were resting on your hips lift you off of his lap with surprising strength and plops you on your back, with his hips resting comfortably between your legs.

You and your friends often forget that John is deceptively strong; John’s tall and slim frame hides amazing upper-arm strength that could rival yours. Not as strong as Equius, but this nerd is pretty fucking close. You would be a terrible liar if you said that this didn’t give you an instaboner. “You said it’s a ‘yes’ until you say ‘no’, right?”

You don’t trust your voice to come out with a sound that isn’t a mortifying squeak, so you nod instead. John taking the reins isn’t as bad of an idea as you thought. He gives your lips three sweet, short kisses and a fourth that isn’t so chaste. You immediately open your lips to grant him access, his teeth nipping gently at your cupid’s bow before enclosing his mouth with yours. You feel his tongue slide past your teeth to meet yours, coercing it into a salacious dance. 

The part of your brain that hasn’t turned into lovey-dovey cornmeal is only somewhat aware of the hand trailing down the length of your body, grasping your thigh and hitching it around his waist. Hell yes, hell fucking yes. Your other leg hikes up to join the other, crossing at the ankles to push his pelvis towards yours, clothed erections pressing against one another. One of you lets out a muffled moan, it’s probably you, but you’re too drunk on hormones to give a shit.

As much as you want to pull John’s hips towards you and feel the sweet friction of his concealed length rubbing against yours, you need to keep reminding yourself that John is the one in charge here and that things will only progress if he wants them to. Luckily, it seems like you and John want the exact same thing. 

“Fuck yes,” you hiss when John’s hips start rocking against yours. Your arms tuck themselves around his underarms, your blunt fingernails digging into the fabric of his sweater. Your hands rake down his back until you reach his buttocks (damn does he have a nice ass for a skinny guy). You give the firm cheeks a good squeeze that draws a barely audible grunt from John and you can’t help the smile that spreads to your lips at the sound. John starts smiling against your lips as well and you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh no. One particularly hard thrust has you arching off the couch and making the most emasculating noise that ever came out of your throat. “Ah! You asshole!”

John’s only response to your insult is a raspy ‘hehehehe’ like the doofus he is. All you can think about is how his groin is pressed flush against yours and holy fuck why is it stifling in here? You feel John’s fingers hovering over the front of your jeans, his hesitation posing as a silent askance for permission. Luckily, he takes your impatient groan of ‘get on with it already fuckwit’ as a yes. As dexterous as John is, he fucking fumbles when undoing your pants and you almost want to pick fun at him for it. Almost, but don’t. “Boxers too?”

“Do you want me to cream in my shorts like you did?” You ask dryly.

“Hey!” John cries, “Not cool dude!”

“Oh for god’s sake you brainless shitrumpus, would you please just get this over with before I get flaccid?”

“Ugh! Fine!” John dips his thumb under the hem of your boxers and pulls. Both pants and underwear slide off your calves and fly across the room (John nearly braining himself in the process). You should be embarrassed at being completely exposed under John, but that is the furthest thing from your mind when the waistband of your boxers catches painfully on your dick. Why? Why couldn’t anything between you two go smoothly and painlessly? “Shit! Karkat are you okay!? Fuck!”

“Give me a fucking minute!” You grunt.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

THE NERVE OF THIS FUCKING GUY. 

You give him the most sweltering glare you can muster at his comment. You were going to yell at him as soon as you got your breath back, but the words tumble back down your throat when he slides down your body, his lips wavering over the head of your (deflating) dick. “John,” you ground out, “What in the moronic pimplesqueezing fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Shhhh,” John breathes, warm air fanning the tip of your erection. You can’t tear your eyes off of him as his lips brush against the sensitive bit and holy shit he’s literally trying to kiss it better. The worst part is that it’s working. His lips press fluttering kisses all the way down to your shaft, give a flat-tongue lick, following a vein back to the tip and suck. Oh god. He pulls back with a small ‘pop’ and gazes back at you. “Feel better?”

“Oh _hell yes_.”

“Good.”

A shuddered sigh racks through your body and you melt onto the couch cushions. Okay, this isn’t going as bad as you thought. Your fingers thread through his silky black hair and yes, this is fucking awesome. John can’t take all of it into his mouth, but more than made up for it by gently fisting the base of your cock and pumping in time with his sucks. If your cock was at risk of getting flaccid ten minutes ago, that certainly isn’t the case now. You’re not sure if the throbbing is the pain ebbing away or your organ swelling with sensation, but you don’t really care. The point is that John Egbert, your boyfriend for over a year is sucking you off and judging by the moans he’s making from the back of his throat, he’s enjoying it too. 

It is pretty obvious that John isn’t very experienced at this, but his enthusiasm more than makes up for the lack in skill. You can feel drool slipping from the sides of John’s lips and down your length. It’s honestly kind of gross, but when you hear those filthy suckling noises and feel the vibration of his moans around your dick, you can’t care less over how much spittle he gets on you. “John,” you exhale, “Fuck, hold on a second.”

He stops and looks up at you with those eyes that look like a cloudless sky on a summer day. His dark hair tussled, cheeks flushed and lips puffy from sucking your cock. Ngh. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, lifting yourself on your elbows, “Just, it’s hard to return the favor when you still have your fucking pants on.”

“Oh.” John mutters intelligently, “Oh! Okay man, sure!” He stands up and undoes the button of his slacks, pulls out one leg and nearly trips on the other in the process. He’s wearing red and green striped dad socks. You sigh. You’re not even going to bother. Then he has the idea to crawl back over to you with this smug grin and goes, ‘So, where were we?’ Like he isn’t being the unsexiest thing on this side of the equator.

You decide to shut his mouth with your mouth, much more effective than arguing, and wrap your fingers around his dick. This guy is already leaking and all he did was suck you off, shit. You try to get a feel for it as he presses his lips to yours. His isn’t as thick as yours but it’s definitely longer, uncut too. You roll his foreskin gingerly between the tips of your thumb and index finger; the action drawing out the most precious little whine from his kiss-swollen lips. You grasp his member with more confidence and tug. Every time your fist reaches the tip, your calloused thumb rubs the sensitive head, purposely trying to milk more beads of precum from him. His hand wraps around your length in turn, both of your hands frantically trying to pleasure the other. John would occasionally sprinkle kisses all over your face and fuck that is adorable. 

Just as you are succumbing to pleasure (even though your hand is starting to cramp a little), John lets go and you make the most pathetic not-whine at the loss of contact. “Karkat,” he murmurs, “How far did you want to go?”

It takes you a moment for the haze of arousal to clear from the edges of your mind and slowly process John’s question. Honestly speaking, you aren’t sure how you feel about bottoming if John is planning on seeing this all the way through. As far as you know, you are John’s first boyfriend and will possibly be his first non-female sexual partner. Does John even know that he shouldn’t just shove it in your ass all willy-nilly? You’ve done some research yourself, lots and lots of research. This so-called ‘research’ most certainly did not consist of hours upon hours of hardcore gay pornography. Definitely not. 

Anyway, John seems surprisingly determined to go all the way, but you have doubts and you might as well put them out in the open if you want to get anywhere. “John, I have no idea how ready you think you are, but I don’t think I’m okay with the idea of you stabbing me in the sphincter repeatedly with your freakishly huge kidney scraper you try to pass off as regular male anatomy.”

You really want to slap away that smug smirk that only grows wider with every word that spills out of your colossal trap. It took several hits to the face with a throw pillow to make him get back to the issue that is who’s putting what in where. You were expecting John to also not be into the whole getting-corned-in-the-shithole thing, which is why you are nearly knocked off your ass in shock when he says, “Oh Karkat, that’s okay! I was actually thinking if you would be okay with, you know, you doing the stabby-thing like you said.”

Wait, what?

Your confusion must have shown on your face because John adds, “I said I was ready to go full-homo, Karkat, and I don’t really know how to set it up or whatever, so I’m turning over the position of leader to you!”

“Egbert you must be out of your shitflinging mind! Do you have any idea how much it’s gonna hurt? Especially if it’s your first time ever shoving something up your ass that isn’t your bulbous head. What if I fucking traumatize you or something so badly and you end up doing the whole celibacy-shitck like Kankri? The whole reason I was letting you do anything is because I don’t want to fuck up your first god damn time John!”

John just sort of hovers over you, placing a tender kiss to the tip of your nose and with a fistful of your sweater, pulls you forward. You land with your lands on either side of his head and the idiot looks so pleased with himself. Before you can make any sort of scathing remark, he swipes his thumb across your lips, effectively silencing you. “You’ll do fine, Karkat. I’ve, erm, kinda been practicing? So it shouldn’t suck too bad.”

“John,” you begin, “Is this some improvised, unexpected night of passion or did you plan this from the beginning?”

“Why Karkat!” He gasps dramatically, hand over his chest, “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about!”

You are very skeptical, but decide to ignore his sarcasm. No offense to your boyfriend, but he isn’t the brightest blub in the shitty light-up Christmas sweater. The thought that he maybe calculated leaving the party early to fuck you on Christmas Eve? No way. Nevertheless, you still weren’t expecting anything to happen tonight other than you falling asleep to Netflix and John passed out in his own drool. “I don’t know if we have any condoms.”

“Right bedside table, top drawer. There should be lube there too.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, I think! I’m not sure haha.”

Nice save there idiot; totally not conspicuous in the least.

You go to retrieve the said items from your bedroom and sure enough, there is a box of condoms and lube on John’s side of the bed. You definitely think the assbag has been planning this. When you return, John is just laying on his side, his head propped on one hand and the other resting on his hip, attempting what you think is supposed to be a ‘sexy’ pose. You swear this guy is a major boner-kill. What the hell do you even see in this guy? “Can you be serious for two fucking seconds here, Egbert? You’re making this weirder than it has to be.”

He just rolls his eyes, his goofy composure unwavering, “Gosh Karkat. Maybe you’re the one who needs to lighten up, dude. I mean, if it’s our first time together it’s gonna be weird and sucky anyway, so why not try to make it fun?”

You sit down on the small space on the couch that isn’t being hogged by your moronic boyfriend. You guess he kind of had a point. All those years of reading dime store novels and watching Spanish soap operas may have distorted your expectations beyond reality (just a little). You want this to be perfect, the last thing you want to do is hurt John somehow and there was this overwhelming burden placed on your shoulders when he asked you to take initiative. You notice that John is staring intently at you; he sits up and pushes the tip of his index finger onto your nipple with a low, booming ‘ **BOOP** ’. It was stupid, so fucking stupid, but at the same time that’s all you needed to rid the tension that was building up inside you. You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Yes, John is a dumbass of the highest caliber, but he’s your dumbass. You kiss him, feeling the upturned curve of his lips as you do so. His arms encircle your shoulders; still shaking with mirth, and pulls you flushed against him. It takes all the willpower you can muster to pull yourself away, “Hold on fucknuts, I need to put the damn thing on first!”

While your uselessly thick, blunt fingers struggle with opening the wrapper, you notice John take the bottle of lube. For a moment you thought he was going to open it himself and start without you since you’re taking too fucking long to open a god damn wrapper, but fortunately (or unfortunately) he hands you the lube and takes the condom from you instead. Wow, thanks shitmouth, like you couldn’t do it yourself. You pop open the cap and pour the clear liquid onto your open palm. You really want to spill the cold fluid over his cock and balls as an act of petty revenge, but decide to just prep him without further conflict, you’ll get your vengeance soon enough.  
John slides the freed condom over your erection while you warm the liquid between your hands and this guy has the audacity to give your dick a fond pat like, ‘there you go, all done!’ How this guy has not gotten even the slightest bit soft from all the dumb shit he insists on pulling, you have no idea. 

You’re pretty sure John expects you to just go for the gold and go one finger, two fingers, three fingers, dick; however you have other plans. You reach out and cup his balls, cradling them with the palm of your hand and massage them gently with your fingers. This draws a shuddered inhale from John and you’re hoping you’ll be able to draw more of those sounds from his lips as the night goes on. Your fingers edge closer to the back of his testes, not to his entrance, but towards that space of flesh connecting the two. Your slick fingers press against his perineum, stimulating the nerves beneath the skin. “Karkat,” John ground out, “This feels really weird.”

“Should I stop?”

“No, I mean, it doesn’t hurt or anything. It’s just bluh.”

You give John a questioning look, silently trying to make sure if he still wants this. He nods the affirmative and you continue rubbing small circles into the gap, your palm kneading his balls gently. As you persist with your pressing and prodding, you hear John’s breath hitching, his body trembling slightly underneath you. You take this as an opportunity to brush his puckered hole with the digits of your other hand, his hips lifting to meet your touch. “You ready?”

John sucks in his lower lip, biting down on it with those cute buckteeth, as though bracing himself, and nods slowly. Your index finger slides in with relative ease, the hand fondling his balls moves up to his cock, stroking his length. You press your thumb against the patch of flesh and insert your middle finger simultaneously, John’s face contorting with discomfort. “Don’t go too fast.”

“I won’t.” You whisper reassuringly. You take your time with him, your fingers moving back and forth, his body squirming under your touch. You stroke his cock slowly, wanting to make him feel good as long as you’re able. You feel terrible for having to force yourself to be patient; John’s muffled whines and groans driving you mad with arousal. By the time your third finger meets the other two John is already a trembling, panting mess. At this point you’re painfully hard, wanting to bury yourself into your lover’s tight heat and feel it clench around you and god! “John, are you sure you want this?”  
“Yes Karkat!” John grunted, “When I said- _ah fuck_ ‘full homo’, I meant full homo. I want all of the homo dude just _please_!”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You pull your fingers away completely, John making a disappointed sound at the loss of contact. You pour extra lubricant onto your throbbing dick, wanting to make this as painless as possible for John and press the head against his ass. You meet his eyes. He nods and holds on to you, readying himself. When you finally break through the ring of muscle, noises escape the both of you, one from pleasure and the other from pain. You whisper encouraging words into the nape of his neck, punctuating each word with a tender kiss. It’s a cycle of pushing and stopping, following every one of John’s physical cues until you’re fully inside of him. John’s blunt nails are digging hard into your back, his face stuck in a grimace with tears building up at the corners of his gorgeous eyes. You kiss him. You kiss him, touch him, attempting everything you can to soothe your boyfriend. A part of you wants to stop, you hate seeing John like this, but when you make to pull away, he only clings to you all the more. He pulls you into another kiss, much longer and slower than the ones you were consoling him with. 

For a while it is just the two of you, kissing, caressing and fondling, taking your time to map the contours of each other’s bodies like you had all the time in the world to discover one another all over again. John eventually pulls away and leans towards your ear, “Okay, go ahead.” He gulps.

You pull out almost agonizingly slow, until the base of your head is nearly visible and then push it back in, just as slowly. Your lips move from his lips to his neck, to that one spot below his ear that turns him into incoherent mush (more than he already is). The contented hum that vibrates from deep in his chest drives you to sucking gently at the skin of his throat and his collarbone, marking him. You personally think hickies are trashy, but you love how John writhes when he receives them so much that it almost changes your mind about them altogether. Your pace begins to pick up, the couch creaking under the pressure of two moving bodies.

The moment John throws his head back and moans your name, you know you did something right. Maybe it was an angle-thing? Fuck, you don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that John is enjoying this as much as you are. A primal part of your brain wants to take him hard and fast, make him scream your name so loud you get complaints from your meddling neighbors. Slow, Karkat; be the romantic you always claim yourself to be. However, the moment that John fists your hair and meets your thrusts with a keened ‘ _faster_ ’ you are so fucking done.

One hand clenches painfully at your hair and the other rakes red ribbons down your back with dulled fingernails. John holds on to you as though you are the only thing to keep him anchored to reality and if he let go, he would be easily swept away in an abyss of sensation and you too could feel yourself falling.

Falling.

Falling.

You fell.

Literally, you and John fell off the fucking sofa.

“DOUCHEBAGGING ALMIGHTY LOAD GAPER OF SHIT!”

John lets out a breathless chuckle that turned into a full-blown hysterical guffaw. You really want to boff him in the head with a throw pillow again, but you can’t. Not because of how cute he looks when he laughs or anything like that, but more like you can’t find the damn thing anywhere. You’ve already kissed him a handful of times trying to shut him up, so you employ a different method this time. You give him a particularly hard thrust, hitting the little ball of nerves that made John go from laughing to moaning in a second. You are a little hesitant about going too fast at first, until two bronzed hands latched onto your ass and growled, “ _Fuck me_.”  
You proceed in obeying your boyfriend’s whims with overwhelming ardor (because holy shit that is hot), your hips rolling like a piston and your cock repeatedly slamming into his prostate. You can’t stop watching as his back arches off of the wooden floor, mouth hanging open and eyelids fluttering where you can see slivers of the whites of his eyes, you can tell they rolled to the back of his head.

“You find a brain back there?” You grunt with a wry grin.

[](http://imgur.com/63EdvPk)

John can’t properly give you a comeback (being that his mouth is far too busy moaning your name like a mantra), but settles for slapping one of your butt cheeks really fucking hard. Ow, that stung you prick. You catch the slight upturn of the corner of his lips (probably from hearing your manly, indignant squawk) and it doesn’t surprise you in the least that John can still manage a smile even when he looks like he’s trying to do an imitation of a fucking basking shark. You hate this fuckwhiffing shit-for-brains, you hate how much you love him.

All that can be heard in your small, cramped living room are the collective groans and the rhythmic slapping of skin glistening with sweat. You feel your lower stomach contracting, like a coil is winding itself tighter and tighter; you aren’t going to last much longer. You have to hold on, you have to make sure John comes first. After all, when it comes to romance, you’re simply the best there is. You curl your fingers around his dick and pump him in time with your thrusts. You bury your face into his neck and take in the smell of his boyish scent and sex. You can feel John’s lips mouthing your name hurriedly as he comes closer to his climax and with a shuddered inhale, breathes precious words into your skin.

_‘I love you’_

You stare at John in awe, at those words you never thought you’d hear from him and how beautiful he looks when he comes apart at the seams with a silent scream. Thick, white fluid spurts out of him in waves, effectively ruining both your sweaters and the sight of him coming all over himself is more than enough to finally push you over the edge. Your muscles are shaking with the effort to keep you up and nothing stops you from collapsing on top of him like the stereotypical male that you are. 

You aren’t sure how much time has passed; seconds, minutes, maybe even hours just catching your breath and basking in the warmth of John, your John. His hand grazing your cheek snaps you out of your daze and it’s only then when you notice tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “You okay?” John asks raspily.

“Yeah, I’m fan-fucking-tastic.” The sincerity of that statement surprises even you. “What about you? Was that not-terrible?”

“Oh my gosh, dude. That was awesome! I mean, walking is gonna be a bitch, but it was totally worth it.”

“Good.”

You are enjoying your afterglow (and silence) for a few moments, your eyes fluttering closed until John’s voices calls you back to reality once again. “Hey Karkat?”

“What?” God damn it you were trying to sleep, what the hell does he want now?

“It’s past midnight.”

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’?! It’s Christmas Day you doof!”

“Huh,” You mutter, “So it is.”

“So what’d you get me?” You swear to god you could practically hear the grin in his words.

“What I got you? A dicking is what I fucking got you. Merry Christmas, shitstick.”

His chest bounces with laughter against yours and you can’t stop the short-winded snicker that escapes you. “Seriously? Nothing? Like, I got you this super awesome gift and you got me nothing?”

For a moment you swear you could feel the pit of your stomach fall out of your ass in panic. “Did you get me something?”

He gives you a peck on the cheek and smiles, “I’m your present Karkat, it’s me.”

It would be a Christmas miracle if you ever got this guy to shut the hell up. Your good mood and afterglow is long gone, thanks a lot asshole. “So,” You begin with a groan, “Neither of us got jack shit?”

“Looks like it!” John beams.

“Ugh.”

Your suspicions that John may have planned this from the get-go have been laid to rest. Sure, John has his brilliant moments, but he isn’t very smart. (Hell, anyone who would willingly date you has got to have some kind of irreversible brain damage.) Besides, if John really planned this night to go down how it did, then he probably would’ve at least gotten you a present to end the night of attempted romance.

Your suspicions were later confirmed when the next morning you receive several messages from the Strilondes all saying “congrats on the sex”.

**Author's Note:**

> If you look closely you can pinpoint the exact moment I gave up. I'm so sorry I can't write.


End file.
